Not Everything Ends
by ViceroyIcarus
Summary: The Doctor has been through Hell, and he got out the long way round. He's had enough. The Universe owned him nothing, and he owed it nothing as well. So if it wanted to conspire to take her away from him, he'd conspire to get her back. He would get Clara back, and never let her go again. A Series 10 rewrite.


**_Chapter One_**

.o0o.

"Regeneration?"

The General, still nursing his jaw, stood straight. He realized what was about to happen, then? Good. That would make this easier.

"Tenth, sir." He admitted.

The Doctor couldn't help but feel sympathy for the soldier. For all the atrocities both had committed during the Time War, the General was one of the few who kept any semblance of morality. But this needed to be done. The Doctor only hoped his next regeneration would be as upstanding.

"Good luck." He bade his former fellow and shot.

The bolt struck the General squarely in the chest. The Doctor watched as the energy burned through him, shutting done every vital organ it could reach. Hardly the most painless death, but it was quick.

Time to leave.

The Doctor took Clara by the hand, her grip warm and affirming, and bolted for the door, leaving the gun behind.

"You- you killed him." Clara gasped. Seemingly unable to believe her eyes at what he had just done. That's right, her remembered, she wasn't much for killing. He'd make it up to her later. For now, they needed to run.

"He's a Time Lord." The Doctor clarified promptly, "Death is like catching man-flu."

That was a lie. Time Lords maybe able to walk away from death, but that person who they were was now long gone. They were gone, and someone else would walk away. But this _needed_ to be done. The Doctor had to save Clara. They couldn't afford to be caught up in the differing perceptions of mortality between their races. No, time was of the essence.

Clara didn't look happy but was placated for now. That was good. So long as he could get her off Gallifrey, her timeline would readjust, her heart would start again, and then he'd have all the time in the world to explain anything and everything to her. He would never hide anything from her ever again. He swore on his Name. Just so long as they got away from this blasted rock.

They ran through the halls of the Citadel. The Cloisters was his – and by extension their – goal. The Doctor knew his plan. He'd had more than enough time to come up with it. This was his chance. Clara kept pace with him easily, her hand still grasped firmly with his. Oh, how he missed this.

His hearts burned. Partly from the running. Partly from the desperation. But mostly, from the joy of seeing her again. Clara. His Clara. Back where she belongs. By his side, and he would be damned if he ever let her go again.

The universe owed him nothing. That was a fact the Doctor had accepted a long, long time ago. It didn't care who did what for whatever reason. But in that same vein, he didn't owe it anything either. The universe conspired to take her away from him. Now he was conspiring to take her back.

They ran, and ran, and ran. They ducked around corners. Weaved through hallways and chambers, dodging guards and citizens alike. The white marble and bronze architecture of Gallifrey's mighty Citadel provided the perfect backdrop to their great escape. Just like old times! It almost reminds the Doctor of the first time he ran away.

Finally, they descended into The Cloisters. It was dark and abandoned. Derelict almost. Just how he remembered it. The air was frigid, as if afraid to move in the face of what lay within. He didn't blame it. This chamber scared him more than he would willingly admit.

"Doctor…" Clara's voice was small. Afraid. The Cloisters had that effect on people. The eerie mist filled air, where even the drop of a pin would echo off the walls, turned even the most boisterous meek, "What is this place?"

They descended the steps slowly. The sound of their footsteps bouncing off walls they cannot see. The Cloisters is dark. Only a faint blue light bounces permeates the mist. Obsidian columns fill the room like trees in a forest. Vine-like cables and wires dangle between and from the columns at all heights, dusted with ancient and disintegrating cobwebs.

This room is meant to be the home of the Matrix. The sum of all Gallifreyan knowledge gathered from every Time Lord to have ever lived. Himself included. It is guarded jealously by the most esteemed and mighty of Time Lords, those who have given themselves in death to keep it safe. A true monument to the glory of Gallifrey

In truth. It is a crypt.

One that even those who laud its importance and value fear to enter.

They step on to the fog covered floor. The Doctor hears Clara gasp in fright when a shadow glides between two distant pillars.

"The Cloisters." He explains, weary eyes darting from one pillar to another, "The home of dead Time Lords." Her hand gripped his that much tighter as another shadow flew by in the distance.

They crept carefully between the columns doing their best to keep their backs to one another. Every step they took lead them deeper into the chamber. If he was right – and he usually was – then there should be a service hatch in here that will lead directly into a TARDIS docking bay.

"Ex-exterminate…" A familiar voice whimpered. Both Clara and the Doctor whirled around to find a Dalek half destroyed and bound in cables, "Exterminate me!" it pleaded.

Clara's jaw dropped. Daleks, one of the most prideful races in the universe. Nothing could ever impede on their sense of superiority and want to live… and here was one begging for death. How novel.

"Don't worry about them," The Doctor assured her, moving them away. That hatch had to be close, "They're already dead. We just need to avoid the Wraiths and we'll be fine."

Clara looked at him more than slightly unnerved, "Wraiths? What Wraiths?"

The timing couldn't have been more perfect as an empty figure clad in full Time Lord regalia drifted past. The space where the head should be was vacant, save for the glitching image of the person it once was screamed in terror.

"That." Said the Doctor morosely, "Is a Wraith."

"Right." Clara swallowed audibly, "Definitely wanna avoid that."

He couldn't help but smirk slightly. Even after 4.5 billion years, Clara never changed.

"Come on!" He pulled her onward. They were nearly there.

The deeper they went into the Cloisters the hard it became to avoid those blasted ghosts. They were flies, swarming around every corner! Not to mention all the other creatures that had been trapped in here like that Dalek.

"Aha!" The Doctor exclaimed, turning around a column and spotting a familiar piece of floor. Barren of fog and Wraiths. Perfect. He let go of Clara's hand for the first time in what felt like eternity, but sacrifices had to me made, and he would make a hundred more before the day is out.

He all but dived at the promised area of ground, Clara following close behind. He pulled a small book out of his coat pocket. The code to open the hatch and the route to the docking bay. All he needed was a little time. So, he started talking.

Rambling would be a better word for it. He would have said it was for her benefit if asked but given to level of comfort she seemed to be taking from their relative safety. Truth be told it was for his. He was frantic. Every nerve was frayed as he worked to get the hatch open. He read and reread the instructions, but his stupid brain refused to take in the words he's written for himself! Also, why on earth did a bloody service hatch need a password to open! He needed to get them out as quickly as possible, and this damned floor wasn't helping!

"Look at me again." Clara interrupted his hurtling train of thought.

"Sorry, what?" He said, trying to sound distracted.

"In the eye. Look at me." It wasn't a demand, but the tone of her voice left no room for argument, "Just do it."

The Doctor looked back and forth between the hatch and her. There really wasn't time for this, but she wasn't going to let it go. So, he complied. He did the one thing he hadn't been able to do since retrieving her a moment before she died. Looked her in the eyes.

Those big, beautiful, brown eyes, so full of warmth, and compassion. Everything he loved about Clara is distilled in her eyes. Including their ability to swell to disproportionate sizes when she was upset.

She stares at him. Surveying every like in his face, every crease and fold along his brow, and the uncertainty and borderline panic in his eyes. It's like she's staring into his soul. A totally absurd idea. As wonderful as Clara is, she wasn't telepathic in any way, nor did she have any other special powers.

Yet she still saw him.

That was all he ever wanted. For someone to just see _him_.

"How long has it been?" Clara asked. Her head was tilted slightly, and she had that expression when she was trying to work out a difficult puzzle, "How long has it been since you last saw me?"

4.5 billion years passed through the Doctor's memory. Every cycle. Living the same few days over and over and over again, with little variation. Feeling of fear, sorrow, and loss filling his being. The only thing keeping him going was the thought of her face, and where they were now. That faint hope he'd get to see her again.

He dropped her gaze. It was too much right now. He couldn't tell her. There was no telling how she'd react… That was a lie. He could easily guess how badly Clara would take it, but he couldn't face that right now, and risk breaking down himself. They had gotten so far. They were so close. He couldn't lose her. Not again.

"A while…" he muttered, looking back at the floor and little book of instructions.

"What do you mean?" Clara pressed, leaning forward to him.

The Doctor didn't want to respond, he really didn't, but she wasn't going to let this go unless she got _something_, "I was trapped in a place for a while…" He explained, trying to look her in the eye again, but finding himself unable, "The-these people wanted something from me,"

"-Who? What people?" She interjected looking incredibly concerned.

"And I…" he ignored her interruption, but trailed off, "You know it _really_ doesn't matter."

The Doctor went right back to trying to force the floor open, firmly marking the conversation as over. Clara sat back and returned to twiddling her fingers while he worked. It was probably the 4.5 billion years alone talking, but she looked so perfect where she sat. He shook his head little. That time in the Dial messed with him more than he realized.

The floor made a positive clicking noise. So close. They were so, so close. The Doctor's hearts pounded in his ears.

"What happened to your coat?" Clara piped up, probably trying to kill the quiet between them. Or, just as likely, try and pry more information out of him. She was so much like him in that regard, "The red velvety one. I really liked it! It was very Doctor-y"

Yes, it was rather 'Doctor-y', wasn't it? He liked it too for that reason. But it was back in the Dial, likely never to be retrieved. The Doctor felt himself begin to shake. Partly from being bent over for so long, partly from frustration. The faster he tried to work, the slower things were going, and Clara would only keep asking him questions.

"I changed it." He provided dismissively, not wanting to make a big deal of it. In the face of things, it really wasn't.

"Why?"

"Well, I can't be the Doctor all the time."

The floor made more positive clicks that sent the Doctor's hearts racing, "I've almost got it! I think this is it."

He grinned up at her, burgeoning feeling of hope sprouting for the first time in… longer than he could count. Clara was unmoved. Her expression once quizzical had dropped into some more, serious.

"Tell me what they did to you." She requested firmly, "Tell me what happened to the Doctor."

There was no room for argument. So, he told her. He told her. He told her of the Confession Dial. He told her of the Veiled. How it was his own personal hell, designed for him to torture himself. He told her of the Azbantium wall and how he punched his way through.

He did not, however, tell her how long it took.

One last omission. For her sake.

"How long…"

"Miss Oswald…" a new voice broke in. It was the General, if her armour was anything to go by. A lot more feminine than her last incarnation, but not less stern looking. She was flanked by Ohila, and two soldiers. The subtle threat was clear. The Doctor needed to keep working.

"Stay back." Clara warned, looking over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry but we have to find a way to…"

"I SAID 'STAY BACK'!"

The General, and Ohila looked down, suitably chastised.

The head of the Gallifreyan Army. A Time Lord who fought in countless battles against the absolute worst the universe could conjure up, and the leader of the Sisterhood of Karn. An immortal in the truest sense of the word. Both mighty figures in their own rights. Both told off by a human, 5'1" and crying. The Doctor almost smiled in pride.

They never stood a chance.

Clara turned back to him, "'The Hybrid'. What is it? What's so important you would fight so long?"

Questions were practically tumbling from her mouth. Her need to know was catching up to him.

"It doesn't matter '_what_' it is." The Doctor explained quickly, "It only matters that I convinced them that I knew. Otherwise they'd have kicked me out and I'd have nothing left to bargain with."

"What were you bargaining for?"

"What do you think?" he looked up at her, expecting to see the pieces fall into place. But they didn't. Eyes wide and shining, Clara just shook her head unable to see the bigger picture. _The biggest picture_.

"_You."_ The Doctor held her gaze, "I had to find a way to save you."

Clara was silent. Whether from shock, rejection or something else entirely that didn't matter.

"I knew it had to be the Time Lords." He continued, "They cost you your life on Trap Street, Clara, and I was going to make them pay you back. Now, I just have to hang on in there for a bit." He went back to the floor.

"How long?" she uttered softly.

"It's fine."

There was a moment of silence. The Doctor held the vain hope that Clara had given up the proverbial ghost and accepted his explanation. But as soon as he heard the soft shuffle of cloth beside him, he knew it was all going to come to light.

"One question." He heard Clara say in that way of hers, "And you _will_ answer. How long was the Doctor trapped inside the Confession Dial?"

"We think…" It was Ohila that responded, "Four and a half billion years."

The old Sister stated the number as easily as one would read a statistic on a spreadsheet. Like it was that simple. And it probably was, but to live it was another matter entirely. Clara's silence was deafening. He could only imagine her face right now.

"He could have left any time he wanted, he just had to say what he knew." The General elaborated, "The Dial would have released him."

Oh well. It was nice to get confirmation that he wasn't _completely trapped_ in that hellhole.

The Doctor sat up in time to see Clara standing over him. Her eyes doing that thing where they inflated to ten times their original size and began shining with tears. He felt his hearts ache as if stabbed. He couldn't do this right now. Any time but now. His own eyes began to sting.

"Four and a half _billion_ years." Clara breathed, holding her composure as best she could. Trying keep some pretense that she was livid at him.

He couldn't face it. Face her.

"If she says so." He replied flippantly, dropping back to the floor.

Clara dropped to the floor beside him, "Why would you even do that?" she pleaded, "I was dead. I was dead and gone! Why would you even do that to yourself!" She moved closer to him. Pushing her hand to his shoulders, eyes searching his for any sign on and answer.

He could see it. The hurt in her eyes. It made his soul shudder in anguish. It wasn't hurt at some betrayal, or at the reveal of some twisted truth. It was worse than that. The hurt caused by the thought of a loved one risking themselves over them for no reason. She cared for him so much that she could not bear the idea of him living in his own personal hell for that long hurt her almost as much as it hurt him.

But she didn't see it.

Back on Trap Street the Doctor remembered her words. Everything she said in those fleeting, final moments before she went to face the Raven.

_"Everything you are about to say, I already know. Don't do it now. We've always had enough bad timing"_

Clara's words were right then, as they were now. But it seemed she didn't know exactly what he wanted to say. If she did, then she wouldn't be questioning why he was here now. Why he lived all those years in the Dial.

The Doctor fought the lump in his throat. He knew the word he wanted to say, but they wouldn't come.

"I had duty of care."

A look of painful realization dawned on Clara's face. She blinked the tears out of her eyes, rendered temporarily speechless.

"Listen, I'm nearly through here." They needed to get moving again. Their enemies were standing naught 15 feet away. As if to prove his point, the panel on the gave another positive click, followed by a heavy _'thunk'_.

"Okay, listen." Her voice was painfully resigned, "I have something I need to say."

"We don't have time!" Didn't she see? Didn't she realize the rush they were in? The only thing stopping the General and Ohila ordering their capture was a vague sense of common decency. They were giving dead men their final words.

"No!" Clara raised her voice, "My time… my time is up, Doctor. Between one heartbeat and the last is all the time I have. People like us. We should say things to one another. And I'm going to say them now…"

Clara paused for breath. A breath she technically didn't need any more. The Doctor peered into her big, brown eyes. Suddenly, all he could hear was the painfully slow beating of his own hearts. Nothing else existed right now. No Wraiths. No Cloisters. No Time Lords bent on their capture.

Just Clara and the Doctor.

As it should be.

"I love you, Doctor." Clara stated. She spoke like it was the only fact she knew. The only fact that matter, "More than anything in this world or the next."

And like that, the dam burst. Tears finally began to roll down his lined cheeks. Her words were music for his soul. The Doctor didn't know how much he needed to hear those words until they came from Clara Oswald.

"I love you too, Clara." He uttered, blinking another tear down his face, "My Clara."

Without another word, they pulled each other into the tightest, most affirming hug they could mutually manage. Their faces buried into the other's neck.

God knows how much time passed as the Doctor held his Clara as tightly as he could, and she in turn, held him. Likely only minutes. It felt like seconds. The Doctor was not a hugging man. He was not a fan of physical contact in general, but with Clara. He would make any exception.

Slowly, a tightness that had settled in his chest unwound, bringing with it a new wave of determination. A second wind. Now, he was not just fighting for a hope. Some distant image of salvation ready to slip through his fingers. No. He had something – some_one_ – to fight for. A future.

Now, nothing in this world or the next could stop him.

"I'll distract them." Clara whispered in his ear. They were finally on the same page, "You get that hatch open, and I'll make sure they're looking at me when you do."

The Doctor nodded into her shoulder.

After a few more seconds they pulled apart, arms still on each other's shoulders. The Doctor placed his hands on either side of Clara's face. She smiled lightly leaning into his palm. With his thumbs he wiped away her tears.

Clara chuckled at the action, "Show time." She muttered.

In one smooth, confident motion Clara stood up and walked over to the General and Ohila. The Doctor watched as they turned their attention to his Impossible Girl. Clearly taking her very seriously. Perfect.

The panel gave one final, resounding _'click'_ as it raised from the floor, split down the middle and opened. The Doctor grinned. The service duct was a clean sterile white and went down quite the distance. Good thing he was durable. This was going to hurt.

He grabbed his little book of schematics and took the fall.

The wind rushed past his ears in a rush, the fall lasting a few seconds longer than he had originally anticipated when her finally reached the grate at the end of the tunnel. A loud metallic clash echoed down the halls, as the grate clattered for the floor below. The Doctor soon followed. He hit the ground hard crumpling like a used napkin under the force of his own fall.

"Ahhh." He hissed through clenched teeth, "Note to self: next time you plan on jumping down a dubiously long tunnel in an attempt to save your best friend's life; bring a pillow."

The Doctor staggered to his feet, ankles and knees burning. He consulted his little book of schematics as to what direction he should go next, because in true Time Lord fashion, the hallway he had landed in was also pure white. In all directions. No signs. Nothing.

"Uhh…" The Doctor fiddled with the book, trying to get the orientation right. He could hurry all he wanted, but it would do him no good if he went the wrong way, "Aha! That way!"

He took off at a sprint down the direction to his right. His strides were long and galloping. His limbs thrummed with energy, carrying him towards the docking bay at speeds greater than he originally thought capable. But then again, there had never been so much on the line as now. This wasn't just for Clara, or revenge, this was for the future. Their future.

Minutes of running passed, the corridor weaving on a gentle curve to the left. A wave of nostalgia washed over the Doctor. Memories of his first self, trotting down a hall just like these. The feeling of determination to escape, to see the universe in all its glory had swept him away. He remembered his thoughts then. Take a TARDIS, collect Susan, and run. Run and never look back. The Doctor allowed himself a secret smile. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

The Docking Bay finally came into view. It looked abandoned, despite the crisp whiteness of the room. Various TARDIS' of varying models were lined up on either side of the room, looking nothing more than clean, smooth pillars with doors. About 30 total. Every single one of them called out to him. Begging to fly once more. Their siren song was quiet and lonely. The Doctor wanted to take all of them, after all, how could you leave a horse in the stable and never let it stretch its legs?

But he couldn't. He physically couldn't.

So, he stood before a choice he'd been confronted with before. Which one to take. Which TARDIS to set free? The Doctor's eyes scanned over the different models, furiously trying to remember which would work best. They were all museum pieces. As old, or older than his own TARDIS. The He couldn't risk being late, or early. He couldn't land 10 feet to the left. He needed one that was reliable. And no echo of Clara to help him this time either.

He vaguely remembered the small Time Lord. She was mechanic, dressed in red. Her eyes alight with mischief as she recommended the Type-40 he was still with. He never thought much of her before. Knowing his people like he did, it was likely she was killed for her crime. Probably construed a treason. The bastards. But it had been his Clara, popping up in his life for the first time. Sending him on the adventure he was still on to this day. Now to repay the favor.

A Type-60 in the corner of the bay caught the Doctor's eye. He grinned. That one would do nicely. Relatively one of the newest models present, they always had a reputation for being incredibly precise. Basically, a tuned-up Type-40.

As soon as the Doctor stepped towards it with intent, the door opened. It was as eager as he to depart. He hurried inside; the familiar default desktop setting hit his senses with another mighty wave of nostalgia. From the prim, pristine white. To the short, glass time rotor turning and bobbing in the centre of the console.

The Doctor set to work.

He knew the spatial coordinates off the top of his head. They were easy. His journey here hadn't been the most complex one. The Time coordinates might serve to be trickier. The Doctor had to work them out on the fly. How long it had been since he dropped down the shoot, allowing for enough time for Clara to distract the General and Ohila, but not so long they would get impatient and put her in danger. The window of opportunity would be fine, but not impossible. He had a few seconds wiggle room either side.

He plugged in the final coordinates, released the handbrake, and took off. The familiar wheeze permeated the air. The Doctor held his breath. Moment of truth…

Clara slowly began to fade into view, facing the door, arm up in a sarcastic little wave. Yes! He nearly pumped his fist in the air. They had done it!

"You were quick." Clara quipped, joining him at the console.

"Time machine," He countered, worked around her, getting ready to take flight again, "I backed up a bit."

"Come out and face me!" an old voice barked. Ohila. An eternal pain in his neck, "Doctor can you hear me? Get out of that TARDIS and face me, boy!"

"Boy?" Clara questioned with a smirk. The Doctor just rolled his eyes and marched to the door.

He poked his head out, making sure to keep one door between him and those outside. He really wanted to make some funny quip, keep them on the back foot, or at least provide entertainment for Clara who was no doubt listening. Ohila beat him to it. She always was a killjoy.

"You have gone too far." The old hag warned coldly, "You have broken every code you have ever lived by."

"Yes." The Doctor acknowledged, "And I'll do it again, if needs be. I'm owed that much."

A warning of his own. He would not even hesitate.

"Owed what? All you're doing is giving her hope." Ohila snarked. An ugly sneer pulled across her lips.

"Since when is hope a bad thing?"

"Hope is a terrible thing on the scaffold." Her words send a lance of ice down the Doctor's spine. He'd heard enough. Time to go.

Slamming the door shut, he strode back to the console and pulled the lever to take off. Neither of them won that verbal bout, but it left a sour taste on his tongue. He pushed it from his mind. They were gone.

"What do you think of the new wheels?" The Doctor asked Clara proudly, waving a hand to the Type-60.

"Basic."

"It's classic! Look at the colour scheme!" They wove around one another as they worked. A perfect tandem established, like they had never been apart.

"It's all white." Clara cracked with a laugh, taking an appreciative look around.

"Genius!" The Doctor grinned, joy enveloping him. Banter with Clara. Salve for the soul.

The Type-60 gave a harsh shudder as they escaped Gallifrey's time zone. They both staggered, but that was to be expected. If he was right…

"Check your heartbeat." He requested.

Clara looked at him, curious. She placed her fingers to her wrist. The Doctor's grin dropped into a confident smirk.

"I think you'll find that you have one." He declared.

"Yeah?" She sounded excited. A hopeful smile stretched from her lips. Everything was going according to plan.

So why did her eyes look so unsure? No. It was a trick of the light. It had to be. Maybe this 'all white design' thing wasn't that good.

"It should have restarted when we broke free of Gallifrey's time zone." He explained. More for himself than Clara, "You're alive!"

The Doctor set back to work. Now came the fun bit, "We just have to shake off the Time Lords."

He flipped some switched, a feeling of manic energy swirling around him. So many ideas, possibilities, and things to do began swimming before his eyes. Everything had been set right once more. He'd gotten what he was owed. Clara grinned at him, still holding her wrist.

"And there's only one way to do that." He gave her a sly smile, "How about lunch, followed breakfast? Why? Because we're time travellers and that's how we roll!"

The Doctor jived around the console, dancing almost. He could run a lap of a planet right now! This feeling. He hadn't felt it since is previous self. This want and need to show off, to make people – Clara in this case – laugh to just enjoy life for what it was. It was marvellous! The grin just wouldn't leave his face!

"Then cocktails with Moses! Then I'm going to invent a flying submarine. Why? Because nobody ever has and it annoying!"

Clara followed him about the room, grinning almost as much as he was. Her eyes danced with laughter. Her cheeks took on that slightly rosy tint that usually happened when she was excited. And why shouldn't she be? She was alive! Alive and free! The universe was laid out before them.

So why was she still holding her wrist?

"We should use this TARDIS to find my proper one." He muttered distractedly to himself, "I need a change of shirt."

A new shirt and a new coat. Preferably a new red velvety one. The Doctor wasn't lying when he said he liked it and since Clara liked it too, well then, he just had to get a new one. It was very Doctor-y after all. He should wear hoodies more too! Comfortable, casual, and they looked well with what he wore any way. Win, win, win.

"Umm, Doctor…" Clara interrupted quietly, "I don't have a pulse."

"Course you do. You just haven't found it yet, try again."

"No Doctor. I know how to take my own pulse." She reprimanded, fingers not budging from her wrist.

Static filled the Doctor's brain. This wasn't right. It couldn't be. He rushed around the console to Clara, putting his hand over her wrist…

"See. No pulse."

She was right. Not even a single indication that her heart was even trying to beat. He pulled out the sonic shades and motioned for her to turn around. She complied and lifted her hair. The numbers were still there. Still _'000'_. He scanned them. Nothing. No change whatsoever. The quantum shade still had a lock on her.

"Are they still there?" Clara inquired. The Doctor walked around the console once more, mind racing. There must be something he was missing, "Don't lie to me."

"Uhm maybe…" he stumbled over his words, setting the shades down, "Maybe we just need to fly a bit further. Give it a bit more welly." He set the furthest co-ordinates in both space and time that he could think of and set off.

Clara looked worryingly unsure, "They said, your lot, they said if you save me time would fracture. What did they mean by that?"

"They were exaggerating." The Doctor lied, he didn't even sound convincing to himself, "They always do that. We'll be fine. Time will heal, it always does."

"Always?" Clara approached him, and he moved away.

"It will all sort itself out." He paced around the console, trying to make it look like he wasn't wanted to escape Clara's gaze. The beginnings of panic started to grip at his mind, "You'll have a heartbeat. What? Don't you trust me anymore!?" his voice raised without him realising. The hopelessness was getting to him.

Clara took a step back, "No. Not when you're shouting." She said quietly. Her words holding the weight of a mountain.

Suddenly those big brown eyes held all the sadness and grief in the universe. He had shouted at her. The Doctor hadn't been fair on her. He realised that. She was in this mess as much as – no, more than – he was. He looked away, saying nothing.

"Where are we going?" Clara inquired after a moment, seemingly intent on getting back to the matter at hand. For that he was grateful.

"Nowhere in space. Forward in time." The Doctor explained softly, "We're going to the last hours of the universe. Long past where the Time Lords where hiding. Literally to The End. They won't be able to take us there."

He hoped. They shouldn't be able to find them there. Maybe, just maybe, her heart would restart. It was a faint hope. Fainter than he'd ever felt before, but it was better than nothing. The rush of vigour he had felt in the Cloisters was gone. The Doctor just felt tired now.

Just then the engines halted. They had arrived.

"A pulse, do you have a pulse?" The Doctor asked. He felt like begging. Right now, he'd give anything for a positive answer.

But Clara just looked at him. Her brow creased ever so slightly, with lips pursed. No. His hearts dropped to his ankles. No, he refused to accept this.

"Here's let me do it." He strode over to her once more, intent on taking hold of her arm.

"I am checking it properly!" Clara protested, snatching her wrist out of his reach.

He didn't want to. He _really_ didn't want to. Every fibre of his being reviled at the very idea of it. But he believed her. No pulse.

"This has to work!" The Doctor declared desperately. His stomach had bottomed out, despair was creeping in. He rubbed his hand over his forehead and pinched the bridge on his nose. Anything to try and stop the tears, "This has got to work…" he sobbed.

"What if… one last heartbeat is all I've got?" He heard Clara propose, "What if time isn't healing? What if the universe needs me to die?"

What a horrible proposition. How could she? How could she give in so easily? After everything they had been through. The Doctor wouldn't stand for it. He couldn't.

"_THE UNIVERSE IS OVER!"_ he roared. "We're standing on the last ember! The universe doesn't have any say anymore! As of right now I am answerable to no one!" he slammed his fist on the console. Partly as punctuation, partly as catharsis.

She said nothing. She just took another small step back, shocked by his outburst. With wide eyes, Clara looked at him as if he was a stranger. The Doctor saw what was happening. He was tired, he was angry, and he just want this to be over. It was driving him to the edge. He wanted to go to bed knowing Clara was safe, sound, and _alive_. But that wasn't going to happen.

He pressed his hands to his face, taking a deep, shaking breath. A vain attempt at expelling the grief he was feeling. It did nothing.

"Clara…" The Doctor pleaded, lowering his hands from his face and using them to support himself on the console, "Clara I can't… I can't lose you again."

Old, he sounded so old. So weak. So desperate. Clara, sweet Clara looked so heartbroken for him, "Doctor, I…" before she could get her words of comfort or encouragement out, she was rudely interrupted by 4 harsh knocks on the door.

"Four knocks." The Doctor muttered sardonically, "It's always four knocks."

The heartbeat of a Time Lord. The very symbol of their power and status distilled into 4 simple beats. The Doctor would be glad to never hear it again. He gave Clara a cautious look, warning her to stay inside. He would talk to Me alone.

There was only one person who it could be. The one person right now he never wanted to see ever again. The Doctor opened the Type-60's doors and stepped outside to The End of Everything.

The ground and air were filled with the dust of ages. Stone columns stood solemnly, dressed in the remains of civilisations past, and the Last Light shone through the remains of what Was and what Would Ever Be. This truly was the last vestige of this Reality. A perfect place for someone like her.

"I once told you…" he began, a withering feeling of distaste welling up inside himself, "Oh so long ago, that the universe was a small place when I was angry with you." He walked around a collapsing pillar to find Me sat in a decrepit leather armchair, a chessboard in front of her and a second chair to her side. It was nice to know he was expected, "Is this small enough for you, Me?"

Me gave him a pleasant smile, "You don't seem surprised to see me."

"At The End of Everything we should expect the company of immortals." The Doctor waxed. Something about seeing the Last Light left him feeling a little poetic, "Or so I've been told."

"All the other immortals are gone." She countered, "Just Me."

"The one and only Me. Finally, you earn the title." He couldn't help the sarcastic jibe, "Sitting here in a reality bubble at the end of time itself. How are you sustaining it by the way?"

Her eyes glittered knowingly, "Brilliantly. I've been watching star die. It was beautiful."

"No, it was sad."

"It was both." Me spoke softly, her expression quickly turning derisive, "But that's not something you would understand, is it? You don't like endings."

The Doctor said nothing. He gave her a heated glare, his dislike of the woman growing by the second.

"She dies, Doctor." Me stated harshly.

"We all die." He bit back.

"Not Me."

"Mores the pity."

"You need to accept that fact. Clara Oswald will die. It won't be your fault; it won't be mind. It will simply be." Me prattled on, all wizened and knowing, "She died for who she was and who she loved. It was sad, and it was beautiful, and it is over."

"Ashildr…"

"Me." The immortal corrected.

"Me, go to hell." The Doctor spat. He looked over his shoulder at the Last Light, "By my calculations you have five minutes."

Her smile tightened, "The Hybrid. Five minutes to Hell. I think it's time to tell the truth."

The Doctor quirked an eyebrow, "And what would you like to know?"

"The Wraiths whispered it to you when you were a child. What is it?"

He stalked over to Me. Looming over her with his full height, "You." The Doctor practically snarled.

Me was unmoved. If anything, she looked amused by his show of intimidation, "I'm human with just a little bit of Mire inside. The Hybrid is meant to be half Time Lord, half Dalek."

"Impossible," The Doctor corrected, "The Hybrid was stated to be of _'Two Warrior Races'_. They just made assumptions. Both Human and Mire fit perfectly."

"Then by your logic," Me proposed with a smirk, "Both Human and Time Lord would fit as well. But what I want to know, Doctor, is why you, a Time Lord, a _high born Gallifreyan,_ spends so much time on Earth."

The Doctor scoffed, "What? I'm the Hybrid? Is that the best you can come up with?" he barked a harsh laugh, "So, what? I got scared of myself and ran away from home because of it. That doesn't make any sense." He turned his back on Me. He didn't want to face her ridiculousness right now.

"It does and you know it."

"Does it even matter?"

"No," Me admitted, probably with a shrug, "Because I have a better theory."

"And what would that be?" The Doctor asked snidely.

He could almost hear the immortal's knowing smile, "What if… the Hybrid was two beings instead of one." This Doctor's fist clenched. His body felt like it had been doused in icy water, "A great and powerful Time Lord, and a young Human woman oh so very like him. The pair pushing each other farther and farther. Willing to do anything to keep each other safe. Even if it meant ripping all of Time and Space to shreds. Now, doesn't that sound familiar?"

Me's words were almost teasing towards the end. She watched as the Doctor's body tighten with every sentence she spoke. His knuckles were white, and his face had gone pale. He knew.

What Me was suggesting was just as likely as any other theory they had, after all until the beast itself reared its head no one would truly know what it was, or even if it was real, but the Doctor knew. He knew how far he'd gone. Gone far enough to break so many principles that he, and his people stood for. Ohila had been right. He had gone too far. If this turned into a pattern, one in which Clara became an active participant, then standing in the ruins of Gallifrey would be the least of their concerns.

The what could they do? If it was destined to happen could they fight against it? Time was in constant flux and could be rewritten, but then, wouldn't something as big as the fall of Gallifrey at the hands of the Hybrid be a fixed point? Was it inevitable? The Doctor hadn't seen any signs that the Hybrid was real. Davros mentioned it. The Time Lord's feared it. Me was probably it. But other than that, nothing.

Then again, he thought the same of Bad Wolf.

One thing was for sure. If it was himself and Clara, they would have to be careful not to cause too much of a ruckus going forwards, because the alternative was giving each other up. That was _not _an option.

"What does it matter now?" The Doctor asked quietly, awash in the Last Light.

Me sighed. She'd given up, gotten bored, or maybe was just annoyed at him, "What are you going to do now?" Her question was markedly resigned.

"What I always do." He whispered, "Run."

"It'll be an awfully long distance. They'll come for you."

"Let them."

There was nothing more to say. Me hadn't gotten the answers she would have wanted, but answers she got. He wouldn't turn back. The Doctor had made peace with what was to come. Whatever _'that'_ was. He and Clara would face it together.

The Doctor turned on heel, time was almost up, and strode for the Type-60. "Come on." He grabbed Me by the arm prompting a shout of protest.

They entered the Type-60 and Clara stood, sonic shades in hand, looked at the pair with dinner plate eyes. So, she's heard everything then? Good. That would make this easier. He let go of Me and set to work bringing them back to 21st century London. He needed his TARDIS back.

"Doctor…" Clara stepped toward him, looking incredibly uncertain, "Are- are you sure about this?"

The Doctor met her gaze easily, "Clara Oswald, I have never been so sure in my life."

She nodded beginning to look bleary eyed, "And what about this?" she motioned vaguely to the back of her neck.

He set them into flight, and took Clara by the hand, not once looking away, "I will get that mark off you no matter what." He uttered gently, "I swear. Every contract has a loophole, and every law has an exception. We will find the answer."

Clara swallowed thickly, and nodded again, tears rolling down her cheeks, "Yeah… okay." She accepted.

They pulled each other into a warm, loving embrace. For the first time in what felt like millennia, everything seemed like it was gonna work out.

"This is all saccharine and sweet and all," Me cut in sounding a mite bit disgruntled, "But why exactly did you take me along?"

The hugging pair pulled back from each other and looked at Me.

"Well, I wasn't exactly going to let you face oblivion, now was I?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from his dripping from his voice like venom, "No, that would be much too kind. I want to make sure I never have to see you again?"

"So, you took me with you? Stellar plan, Doctor, you've out done yourself this time." Me mocked.

"That's because you haven't seen the master stroke just yet." The Doctor countered unaffected.

Clara remained quiet. She looked back and forth between the two ancients before her as they traded barbs. She seemed to be regarding Me with some level of caution, but with none of the hostility that the Doctor was displaying. Maybe she was hoping he would keep his promise of not 'seeking revenge'? If so, that was fine. He had no intention of getting revenge on Me.

There was a small jolt as the Type-60 landed. A quick glance at the screen confirmed their location. Modern day London, directly besides his own TARDIS.

The Doctor reluctantly pulled away from Clara to face Me. He sat back on the console, arms folded and a giving her a withering glare. She met his easily with her own.

"Here's the deal, Me." He proposed, "I _never _want to see you again. Not for the rest of any of my lives. So, to that end I'm giving you this TARDIS."

Me raised a disbelieving eyebrow, "Really?" She asked sceptically, "You're just gonna let me have one of the most jealously guarded and advanced pieces of technology in _all _existence, because you don't like me?"

"I'm giving it to you so you can go wherever you want, do whatever you want, so long as you stay the hell out of my way." He clarified, "With this 'coincidence' won't be an excuse."

"And how do you expect me to fly this thing?"

"There's a manual in here." He knocked the underside of the console with his heel, "And if you're good, she'll help you learn. Maybe even translate the Gallifreyan it's written in."

Me stared at him; lips pursed into a thin, almost invisible line. The gears churning in her mind, "Fine." She settled on, "You have a deal, but know this; if you two start proving my theory right, I will do everything to stop you." Her eyes ablaze with anger and determination.

The Doctor smirked, "Right back at you."

He pushed himself off the console and made for the door. Clara looked to Me sadly, "Thank you, Ashildr. Take care."

Curiously the immortal didn't correct her, and just returned the consolatory smile, "You too, Clara… for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

He got the sense that she wasn't talking about the Raven.

Clara joined him out the door into the streets. The TARDIS sat before them looking a little different than usual, but still home. Warmth swelled through the Doctor's body, as Clara took his hand, seeing the mural that had been painted along the ship's exterior.

"Aww." Clara cooed, "Rigsy."

Indeed, the artist had had his way with their home. A mural of roses, red, white, and pink growing on vines around the outside of the box. At the base was an assortment of daisies, lilies, sunflowers and so many more types of flower arranged in bouquets, reefs, and vases even extending out onto the ground in which they walked. A frankly stunning portrait of Clara was painted in one of the panels on the TARDIS' door. At all came together to make an absolutely gorgeous shrine to someone he thought had died. It was beautiful.

"He's quite talented, isn't he?" The Doctor said softly.

Clara nodded, "We should do see him. Let him know…"

"We will."

They didn't move. They stood admiring the painstaking work their friend had done in Clara's honour, know that at some point it would have to be removed. It was always a shame to see art destroyed.

"Doctor…" Clara spoke up, there was an undercurrent of determination in her tone.

"Yes?"

"I want… I want us to make a promise." The Doctor looked down at her. She was still looking at the art, "Back on Gallifrey I said that people like us should say things to one another, and then we were _truly_ honest to each other for the first in a long, long while. So, I want… I would like for us to keep that going."

He smiled, genuinely _smiled_, at her. Finally, he could let himself feel how he's always wanted to feel for one Clara Oswald.

"I would like that too."

She looked up at him once more with those big brown eyes, so full of compassion and joy and determination, "So let's promise that from now on there will be no more lies, half-truths, omissions or anything between us, because that's what got us into this situation in the first place and I'll be damned if I ever let it happen again."

The Doctor remembered the pledge he said he'd make to her while back on Gallifrey, "Clara Oswald, I swear on my name that I will never lie to you again."

Her eyes glittered like a cascade of a thousand stars, and her smile lit up the dreary London afternoon, "Then I, Clara Oswald, swear on my name that I will never lie to you again."

The she did something surprising. She wrapped her arms around his neck like she had done so many times before, but unlike those countless other instances, she didn't go for the Hug. Instead she pulled the Doctor close and pressed her lips to his. For a second his mind went blank. What did he respond? What was the best course of action? Was this _actually_ happening? He couldn't focus on any of these questions long enough to form an answer. Turns out Clara's body pressed to his was a little distracting.

There was the option he wanted, however. The one he took. The Doctor placed his hand to her hip and reciprocated with more fervour than was probably reasonable, but he could work that out later. For now, this was all that mattered.

Clara and the Doctor together against the universe. As it should be.

.o0o.

**_(Notes: So what did you all think? I would love any and all feedback you, as a reader, can give! I want to improve my writing as much as possible and anything would be massive help!_**

**_As for the story itself, it will become increasingly canon divergent as time goes on. This chapter is very close to the original Hell Bent in places because it's a simple change of 'no neural block' and will gradually grow more divergent as the story progresses. If you're here for the 'series 10 but with clara' this won't be that. I will be editing the stories for the effect of her being there as a character and even just to make the story work better on the whole._**

**_But with that all said, I hope you will stick around and enjoy!)_**


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